


Salt and Fire

by nana_banana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Language, Mentions of Blood, New Friendship, No Romance, beginning of hunter!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 08:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nana_banana/pseuds/nana_banana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wasn't one to quit just because his father didn't believe him. It didn't matter if he was the sheriff or not. *edited to fix tenses*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> So, basically this is just a drabble/apology for taking so long with the updating of "All I Know Is This". Don't worry, I have not abandoned ship (I will finish that story if it's the last thing I do). I was just having some Isaac/Supernatural feels (and a ton of frustration because the damn words won't go together). I want to cuddle little Lahey like there's no tomorrow.

It started out simple enough. Google a couple things here and there. Muddle through the depths of the internet and sort through all the crap to find the two things that would almost definitely work. Salt and fire. And with those two things in mind, Stiles Stilinski grabbed a shovel, the lawn mower's spare gasoline, a whole cylinder of salt from his kitchen, his handy dandy flashlight, and trudged towards the local cemetery at eleven on Wednesday night.

He parked his jeep in the dark of a willow. The cemetery was silent and eerie. Stiles did not like coming here. He never had. He always felt the chill of eyes running down his spine, even when there was no one around. Clearing his throat, he tossed his backpack over the fence and quickly climbed after it. Stiles flicked on his flashlight, teeth idly worrying his lip as he retrieved his backpack from the ground. Logically, he knew no one was around.

 _Well, at least no one living,_ he thought with a shudder.

Stiles started for the graves, keeping to the toes, the edges.

 _“Don't step on the graves, Stiles,”_ his father had once said, _“never step on the graves.”_

Sweeping his flashlight from headstone to headstone, Stiles briefly lit his path, only ever enough to make sure he was not about to fall to his own grave. He spent about twenty minutes walking around, crunching through the grass. He flashed his light from stone to marble to granite, with only the company of crickets and the occasional creak of wood from nearby trees. It was then that Stiles finally found the headstone he was looking for.

_Adeline Carrington_

_1888 – 1989_

“Hello there, Adeline,” Stiles murmured as he slipped the backpack off his shoulder to rest on the ground, hands visibly shaking. Turning, he searched for a moment, making a small noise of terror in his throat when he came face to face with an angel. Gasping, Stiles palmed at the space over his heart in an effort to calm himself, relieved it was only stone. The statue was turned around, facing the opposite way. Looking over Adeline's grave, he would think, if Stiles had been the superstitious kind, which he still denied he was. Everything was about preventative measures. If it made him seem a little superstitious, so be it.

Stiles laid the flashlight at the statue's feet, directing its glow over the grave. Once in position, he pulled the shovel from his backpack, grumbling when it would not come out. Eventually, he bent over to unzip it when he realized it was useless to keep yanking. Once he had the tool in his hands, he gave the final resting place of Adeline Carrington a final look, and wedged the end through the feathery moss and into the ground.

˟

Stiles had been at it for over two hours. He had been digging, thrusting the shovel into the dirt over and over _and over again._ Each shovel-full of dirt seemed heavier than the last and his arms ached like hell, his hands had seen better days, and his back hurt even worse. Stiles knew he was not the pinnacle of health, but he was on the goddamn lacrosse team for God's sake! Sure, he did not actually _play,_ but those were just semantics! Stiles dropped the wood and leaned his back against the dirt, his breaths coming out in harsh wheezes. Wiping at his brow, he cursed. He cursed the ragged blisters on his hands, cursed the ground beneath him for being difficult, and cursed his failure to bring along his best friend and his handy inhaler. He had not wanted to risk getting tattled on by his best friend. Though he knew Scott would take his secrets to the grave, the teen was still susceptible to the glare of his mother and he knew Scott would never help him dig up a grave, no matter his reasons.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Oh my god!” Stiles gripped at his chest and flailed in a panic before his eyes landed on the curly-haired blonde crouching at the edge of the hole he had dug. Stiles scrambled out of the grave and the other teen stood, a tired look on his face. “Whatta – what are ya doin' here?” gasped Stiles, still trying to come down from his fright and catch his breath from the strenuous workout.

“I thought I heard someone dying, so logically, I came to check it out since everyone here is supposed to be dead already,” said the blonde, “but seriously, grave robbing?”

Stiles huffed and shrugged.

“Just call the cops already. You wouldn't believe me if I explained,” he countered, resigned to the fact that his _hours_ of digging had _all been for nothing._

“Try me,” said the blonde.

Stiles eyed him warily. The teen's pinched face did not inspire any faith, but whatever, he was going to be grounded for life anyway.

“Okay,” Stiles sighed, “short story is that the ghost of this Adeline Carrington is killing people, but my dad won't believe me, so here I am, at the risk of getting sent to Eichen House, trying to get rid of her ghost.” Stiles extended his arms wide, as if to show that he had nothing else to give, but the blonde only nodded.

“Okay,” he said.”

Stiles frowned at him.

“Okay?” he asked, exasperated.

“Okay,” the blonde repeated, shrugging, “Sounds better than anything I've got going on.”

It sounded like there was more to his words, but Stiles was too flummoxed to pry, so he nodded instead.

“Okay,” he said, clapping his hands and wincing. He looked to the blonde in question, “It's Isaac, right?”

“That's right,” Isaac replied with a small grin. He hopped into the grave and picked up the shovel. And with great adeptness, he began to dig. He dug with precision and patience, with a composure Stiles can only ever hope to gain.

“You should have brought a shovel,” he said to Isaac.

“Yeah, well, I didn't know I was gonna be killing ghosts tonight,” came the steady reply.

The pair spent the time in silence, switching off with only a grunt. It was three hours later that Stiles hit the ground only to produce a wooden thud.

“Gotcha,” Stiles said, “hey, grab my backpack and pull out the salt.” He cleared the top of the coffin from dirt and tried vainly to find a way to open it, frowning when he realized it was sealed. Isaac jumped in then, took up the shovel and slammed it down, breaking through the rotted wood with a vengeance.

“...that works too,” Stiles said, impressed and slightly alarmed. He climbed out of the grave to grab his things when Issac suddenly grabbed his foot. Surprised, Stiles squirmed around to see Isaac gaping at something. Turning to see what it was, Stiles felt his jaw drop. There, just a grave away, was an old woman. Stiles would have mistaken her to be a real, live, and lost old lady if not for the gaping wound at her throat, bloodied nightgown, and foggy eyes. She glared at them, her bloody teeth bared in a snarl. “Holy shit.”

Blindly, Stiles fumbled for the cylinder of salt as the old woman started for them, hands held out and reaching. Behind him, Isaac squealed and Stiles let out a shriek as he grabbed the salt, wrenching the top open and swinging his arm out. He was sure he felt the cold burn of her fingers on his arm when he heard her echoing screech and the touch was gone. Looking around wildly, Stiles pants but she was not there. She was gone. Turning around, he met Isaac's gaze. For a single second, Isaac stared at him before ripping through the wood, exposing Adeline's remains.

“Alright, do whatever it is to make her go away!” he demanded.

Nodding, Stiles helped Issac out of the hole and dumped generous amounts of salt over the bones, tossing aside the mostly-depleted container as he made for the red gallon of gasoline in his backpack. He poured it all on Adeline and pulled a matchbook from his pocket, pulling a single match and striking it. The match went out just as soon as it lit and Isaac yanked the matchbook from his hands, ripping off striking strip from the rest of the book and striking all the heads at once. The matches light, engulfing almost the entire book in a flame.

A scream snatched Stiles' attention and he whipped around to see the ghost heading for them once more. He was about to turn to grab whatever was left of the salt when suddenly Adeline burst into a shower of sparks and embers, cutting her wailing scream short.

“Huh, I'm so glad that worked,” said Isaac, and Stiles turned to see him warming his hands over the fire in the grave. “I assumed that's what you wanted to do.” He motioned to the burning bones and Stiles nodded dumbly.

“Yeah,” he coughed and cleared his throat, sighing heavily, “yeah, that's totally what I wanted.”

“You know, I thought you were just crazy,” said Isaac conversationally, “that's why I went along with it. Meeting crazy people is fun, you know?” Stiles nodded again for the lack of a better answer. “But I guess you're not crazy after all … still fun, though.”

Stiles was not really paying attention. His heart was still pounding and relief was making his knees weak. Any strength left in his body was struggling to keep himself upright.

“You okay?” Isaac asked with a bare glance.

Stiles faintly registered the question and felt himself nodding mechanically before speaking.

“I'm just glad the salt and fire worked,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> So I hoped you enjoyed this?  
> I'm probably (most likely) going to add to this later. It'll probably be a Supernatural/Teen Wolf crossover, but first I need to write some chapters for "All I Know Is This". So if you approve of maybe a longer story/plot to this, leave me some kudos and a comment/suggestion and I shall take all into consideration. Thanks for being so patient.


End file.
